


Five Beats: An Electromagnetic Interpretation

by zinke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Five Times, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6773332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times. Five moments. Five choices. Five chances. Five beats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Beats: An Electromagnetic Interpretation

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Through all aired episodes of The 100.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing. No infringement intended. And yes, I am an old fandom biddie who still writes disclaimers for her fic. Because in my day, young ones, that was how fic was done.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 _Electrocardiography (EKG) is the process of recording the electrical activity of the heart over a period of time. Interpretation of the EKG is ultimately that of pattern recognition. A full interpretation should be performed in a methodical manner to avoid overlooking small details that may change the overall picture._

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**1.** Infarction: a localized area of tissue, as in the heart or kidney, that is dying or dead, having been deprived of its blood supply because of an obstruction by embolism or thrombosis_

 

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

Marcus takes a moment to steel himself before turning to face her. “Abby-”

“No.” She charges towards him, eyes flashing fire and radiating an anger so intense it takes everything in him not to shy away from it. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t the one who just issued an arrest warrant for my daughter.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You bastard,” Abby hisses, shoving him hard enough to knock him off balance. By the time Marcus has regained his footing, she’s already turned and heading for the door.

A smart man would have left it alone; but for some inexplicable reason Marcus’s senses choose that moment to take their leave of him. “Clarke broke the law,” he calls after her.

“She was protecting her _father_!” Abby counters, wheeling around mid-stride.

“She was abetting a criminal.”

“She’s a _child_!”

“Clarke admitted to having knowledge of Jake’s plans, and that she intended to carry those plans out in his stead. These things were said in front of no less than three of my guardsmen.” Marcus shakes his head in frustration. “For god’s sake, Abby, what would you have me do here?”

“What any other decent human being in your position would do.” 

The barb strikes home with unerring accuracy. Marcus grits his teeth and, when he speaks again, his voice is tight with barely controlled emotion. “And if I grant clemency, what happens the next time? Because there _will_ be a next time, Abby. Eventually, someone is going to discover the truth. If I release Clarke, what’s to keep that person from doing exactly what Jake intended? Or worse? What happens if, the next time, my people aren’t fast enough to stop them?”

“My daughter is more than some character in your cautionary tale, Marcus. She is a living, breathing human being!”

“So are the other twenty-six hundred people on this station. I have no choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“Do you think I want to do this?” he pleads, wanting nothing more than to find a way to make her understand. “Jake was my friend, Abby. _You_ are my friend.”

“No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Before Marcus can say anything else, she’s gone, leaving a terrible and oppressive silence in her wake. Drawing a shaky breath, Marcus collapses into the nearest chair as the tears he’s been holding at bay finally spill onto his cheeks.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**2.** Amplitude: All of the waves on an EKG and the intervals between them have a predictable time duration, a range of acceptable amplitudes (voltages), and a typical morphology._

 

Marcus stays just long enough to see Abby and the other service bay survivors safely settled in Medical before turning for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The oxygen mask resting against Abby’s cheeks does little to muffle the disapproving tone in her voice. 

“There could be others. I have to—“

“Not until I take a look at that hand.” Slipping the mask over her head, Abby pushes herself to her feet and makes a beeline for one of the supply closets. “Sit,” she orders, giving a pointed look over her shoulder at the gurney she’s just vacated. 

Marcus briefly contemplates leaving while her back is turned, but one glance at his oozing, swollen hand makes him think better of it. He climbs onto the gurney and watches as Abby places a roll of gauze, tape and a small pot of antiseptic ointment on the mattress beside him. 

“This is going to sting,” she warns, reaching for his left hand.

He can’t stop the hiss of pain that escapes his lips as her fingers make contact. “I told you so,” she chides gently as she begins to work the ointment into his palm.

Marcus is all too aware of just how true her words are. “Yes, You did,” he replies as he rests his uninjured hand on hers, stilling her movements. Once he’s sure he has her attention, he continues, “Abby, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not having the courage to believe you until it was too late.” 

Abby considers him in silence for what feels to Marcus like an eternity before dropping her gaze and resuming her ministrations. “You are _not_ to blame for this.” 

“Do you really think Diana would have been able to muster the support she needed if we hadn’t killed those people?”

Abby sets the pot of ointment on the mattress and reaches for the gauze. “I think that we’ve all had to make choices we’ve come to regret. Whatever the outcome, each and every one of those choices was made in the hope that it would keep our people alive. No one should be faulted for that. Not even you,” she adds a beat later, tempering the barb with a slight smile. 

Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.” 

“No.” She takes a step closer to him and covers his now-bandaged hand with her own. “Thank _you_.”

Something passes between them in that moment, but before Marcus can put a name to what it is, there’s a commotion at the hatchway. 

“We found more survivors in Tesla,” Wick gasps, doubling over as he struggles to catch his breath. “Jaha’s got guys working on getting them out. They’re going to need medical attention once they do.”

Abby glances at Marcus. “Go,” he murmurs in response to her unspoken question. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yes, we will.” And then she’s gone, stopping only long enough to grab her stethoscope and a medkit on her way out the door.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**3.** Interval: The EKG can be split into different segments and intervals which relate directly to phases of cardiac conduction. Limits can then be set on these from which to diagnose deviations from normality._

 

It’s nearly dusk when Marcus orders the procession to stop for the night. 

“Kane-”

Marcus shakes his head. “Clarke, the Mountain Men are gone. The Grounders, too. And these people need to rest,” he adds, dropping his gaze pointedly to Abby, who is resting fitfully on the stretcher between them. 

Clarke’s attention shifts to somewhere over Marcus’s left shoulder, and he knows without having to turn around that Bellamy is standing somewhere behind him. 

“Kane’s right,” Blake says after a beat. “We can start fresh in the morning, be home by mid-day at the latest.”

Grudgingly, Clarke dips her head in assent.

Marcus breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Bellamy, coordinate with Sergeant Miller. I want a perimeter guard in place, three hour shifts. Keep everyone close; no wandering off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miller nods at Costa and together they carefully set Abby’s stretcher on the ground. As the guardsmen and Bellamy head out, Clarke crouches down to run a gentle hand across her mother’s forehead.

“We’ll need a fire,” she announces abruptly, rising to her feet. Before Marcus has a chance to argue she’s gone, leaving he and Abby behind as she disappears into the crowd of other Mount Weather survivors. 

“Clarke’s right. We need to keep the injured warm to prevent hypothermia.”

“You are supposed to be resting,” Marcus admonishes as he gingerly lowers himself onto the ground beside Abby.

“So are you,” she counters, pointedly eyeing his still healing thigh.

Marcus absently rubs at the spot, willing the pain away even as he tries to reassure her. “It’s fine.”

Abby narrows her eyes, but to his relief she doesn’t call him on the lie. Instead, she pushes herself up onto her elbows to take stock of their surroundings. Her gaze inevitably falls on Raven, who is settled across Wick’s lap, her head tucked against his shoulder. “How is she?”

“We need to get her home,” is all Marcus can bring himself to say. 

“We need to get them all home,” she replies, her expression anxious as she watches Clarke, followed by Octavia and Harper, melt into the surrounding darkness.

Marcus wants to reassure her, tell her that her daughter will be able to recover from this, but finds he can’t quite bring himself to give voice to the lie. He knows better than most how it can haunt you, to stand amidst the wreckage and know that the horror laid out before you is one of your own creation.

“How did you do it?” Off his look of confusion she adds, “Learn to live with the choices you’ve made.”

“What makes you think I have?” 

The reproving look she gives him in response is at once both familiar and foreign, and Marcus can’t help but smile at the sight of it. 

Abby returns the gesture, albeit briefly. “Tell me,” she implores. “Please.”

Marcus takes a long look around the clearing. This Earth and the blood-price it has demanded as payment for their salvation was not what any of them had expected. And yet, in spite of all they’ve been through, these people - _his_ people - are still here. Still strong. Still hoping.

“I started listening to you,” he replies simply. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**4.** Axis: An abnormal axis suggests a change in the physical shape and orientation of the heart._

 

From his vantage point by the door, Marcus watches Abby work, her lips moving as she silently catalogues the vials lined up on the table before her. She pauses to make a quick notation on the clipboard by her elbow before beginning to pack them one by one into a storage box. If the neat stack of identical containers Jackson is labeling is any indication, Abby’s been at this since Bellamy’s team returned from Mount Weather just after midnight. 

The scene is affirmation enough for Marcus; what he’s about to do is worth the risk. 

“Good morning.”

He watches and waits as Abby gives him a once over, her gaze lingering on the pack slung over his shoulder and the pistol peeking out from under the hem of his jacket. “You’re going out?” 

“I am. And so are you.” 

“No. I’m not.” 

“Abby, you need a break.”

“What I need,” Abby retorts as she reaches for another vial, “is to get back to work.”

Marcus strides across the room. Grabbing hold of the storage box, he snaps the lid closed, narrowing missing her fingers. “One day, Abby. That’s all I’m asking for. Jackson’s agreed to handle things here—”

Abby casts an accusing look over her shoulder at Jackson. “You planned this?”

Jackson looks uncertainly at Marcus, then nods. “Kane isn’t the only one who’s worried about you, Abby.”

Marcus holds his breath as Abby visibly struggles to control her emotions. “Fine.” Rising to her feet, she swipes the back of her hand across her eyes and reaches for her jacket. “Let’s go.” 

She’s nearly to the perimeter wall by the time Marcus catches up with her. He collects a radio from the guard station, issues a few brief instructions to the team on watch and then they are on their way, passing through the gate and into the open field beyond.

As they approach the treeline, Abby finally asks, “What are we doing out here?”

Closing his eyes, Marcus raises his face to the sun and breathes deep. “Going for a walk.”

Abby stops. “Marcus-”

“C’mon,” he urges gently, inclining his head. 

They walk together in companionable silence under the thinning autumn canopy. He deliberately allows Abby to set the pace, and feels a sense of relief when her steps begin to lose the brisk efficiency with which they’d started, replaced by a slower, easier gait. 

It’s the change in her expression, though, that he finds most captivating. It blooms slowly, a look of wonder that colors her cheeks and brightens her eyes as she takes in the natural beauty around them. He’s never seen her this way before, and as they continue their hike Marcus finds himself mentally devising other ways he might be able to draw out this hidden side of her. 

Preoccupied as he his, Marcus doesn’t notice that Abby’s come to a stop until he’s several paces past her. Belatedly, he realizes that they’re reached their destination. Turning, he can’t help but smile at what he sees. 

Abby is crouched down, one hand pressed deep into the moss and leaves covering the forest floor. With the other, she reaches out to gently brush her fingers along the needled branch of a tiny juniper tree.

“Is this-?”

Marcus nods. 

“How?”

“How did any of us survive the trip to the surface?” Marcus unshoulders his pack and lowers himself to his knees beside her. He pulls a small pair of pruning scissors and a canteen of water from the bag. “I come here as often as I can. Though it really doesn’t need me to take care of it any more.” 

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

He can feel Abby’s eyes on him just as surely as he feels the damp of the Earth seeping through the fabric of his pants as he threads his thumb and finger through the handle rings and sets to work. 

“Because I made a choice.” Marcus pinches the browned tip of one branch between his fingers and clips it off, being careful not to cut any of the healthy, green growth away with it. “Surviving isn’t enough anymore.” Reaching for her hand, he drops the cutting into her open palm, then gently closes their entwined fingers over top of it. “I won’t make the same mistakes I made on the Ark.”

Abby is the first to pull away, withdrawing her hand after what feels at once too long and not long enough. He watches as she slips the clipping into her jacket pocket, then reaches for the canteen. 

“Show me?”

Marcus nods and takes the bottle from her. Unscrewing the lid, he begins to recite the well-worn words his mother taught him all those years ago. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**5.** Artifact: Distorted signals caused by a secondary internal or external sources, such as muscle movement or interference from an electrical device._

 

The first real thought Marcus has that he knows with absolute certainty is his own is of her. 

Struggling to his feet, Marcus tries to call her name. He feels the muscles in his throat catch and contract, but try as he might the sound won’t come. Frantically he casts his gaze from right to left, searching the bewildered, hollow faces of Grounders and Skaikru alike until he finally catches sight of a shock of blonde, bright against the muted grey, brown and red of the battlefield and it’s combatants. 

Clarke is on her knees in the mud beside the still form of a woman Marcus knows without a doubt is her mother. As he watches, Clarke gently brushes Abby’s hair away from her neck, takes a scalpel from Jasper’s waiting hand and presses it to the base of her mother’s neck. 

Marcus is too far away to see exactly what it is they are doing. As he tries to make sense of the scene, he unconsciously reaches up and runs his hand across the back of his neck. He feels a dry, rough patch of gauze beneath his fingertips - 

And remembers.

The experience is not unlike being dragged to the surface after a long time spent underwater. Marcus is suddenly, vividly aware of everything, and it’s too much for his beleaguered senses to handle. The memories come one after the other after the other - Pike, Abby, the cross, the key - and he stumbles under the onslaught, his palms burning white hot in time with the pounding of his heart.

Before he can fall, a strong, steadying hand takes hold of his arm. The low burr of a familiar voice in his ear helps to pull him back from the brink. “Kane.”

“Indra,” he breathes. 

The grounder warrior dips her head in acknowledgement. “It’s good to see you.” Releasing his arm, she hesitates a beat before continuing, “The Commander has called for a meeting of the clan leaders.” 

_Too soon_ , Marcus thinks, as he looks across the square. There are bodies everywhere; in the spaces not occupied by the dead sit the survivors, each looking more beleaguered than the next. Moving amongst them in pairs are his kids - Bellamy and Harper, Octavia and Miller - doing their best to tend to the hundreds they’ve somehow managed to save from ALIE and her City of Light.

“No. My place is here.” 

Indra moves to stand in front of him. When she speaks, her tone is grave. “Many here will blame Skaikru for bringing this plague to our capital’s doorstep. As clan leader, you are the _only_ one who can plead your people’s case to the Commander.”

Logically, he knows Indra is right; his people are far from being out of danger. And in another time and place, that would have been enough to spur Marcus into motion. Instead, he finds himself stepping past Indra, his gaze instinctively returning to the spot where he’d last spotted Abby. 

When he finds her, he’s surprised to find her awake, lying with her head cradled in her daughter’s lap, watching him with clear, wide eyes.

Marcus’s first impulse is to go to her, Indra and the Commander’s order be damned. But before he can act on the desire, his gaze unwittingly slips skyward, to the blood-soaked cross looming behind her at the perimeter of the square. His fists clench involuntarily in response to the sight, bringing another searing flash of pain. 

“Kane.” Indra takes hold of his arm. “The Commander is waiting.”

Still, he hesitates. Marcus casts a glance back at Abby, instinctively looking to her for guidance as he has so many times before. But while he’s been fighting for control of himself and his emotions, she’s turned away, and all he can see is the crisp white edge of her bandage peeking through the thick cascade of her hair.

Nodding his consent, Marcus allows Indra to lead him out of the square to the tower beyond.

He doesn’t see Abby again for three days.

When she appears, he’s sitting bent and breathless on the couch in his guest quarters, shaking off the last vestiges of yet another nightmare. There’s a soft knock at the door and suddenly she’s there, standing uncertainly in the doorway, medkit in hand. 

“Where’s Nyko?”

The lingering effects of the nightmare make his tone unintentionally sharp, and he sees Abby flinch in response. Shaking his head in a silent apology, Marcus forces a smile and gestures for her to come inside. 

She crosses the room to sit beside him, taking deliberate care to put as much distance between them as possible as she opens the medkit and begins pulling out her supplies. Without looking up she holds out her hand, and he lays his dutifully in hers without a second thought.

“Indra and her people left for TonDC this morning,” she explains as she starts to carefully unravel the bandages wrapping his left hand. “Octavia went with them.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Is it?” Abby’s hands slow; when they come to a stop on his, Marcus realizes they are shaking. When she speaks again, her voice is no more than a whisper. “There’s no running away from something like this.”

“Abby-”

Gingerly, she pulls away the last of the bandage, revealing the ragged, pink flesh of his wounded palms. Her fingers are gentle as they brush across his tender skin. “I did this to you,” she says, her voice choked with emotion.

“ALIE did this to me. Not you.” 

For the first time since coming into the room, Abby lifts her eyes to meet his. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I want to,” he confesses, his heart sinking with the realization that, for now, this unwelcome truth is all that he is able to offer her. “So much.”

She gives him a sad smile and whispers, “Me too.”

They sit together in silence as Abby finishes cleaning and re-bandaging his hands. As she works, Marcus’s eyelids slip closed as the fatigue that had pulled him to sleep earlier begins to once again take hold. As his mind begins to drift, he feels the cushion beside him shift, followed by the unexpected warmth of Abby’s lips against his cheek. 

The touch is featherlight; there one moment and gone the next. When he opens his eyes a second later, it’s to find himself alone. 

 

*fin.*


End file.
